Tales of the Kalat Arm
by Mechalich
Summary: A collection of short stories centered on resistance to the Empire in the southeastern terminal arm of the galaxy, by aliens, rebels, fringers, and the native Zeison Sha.
1. Frontispiece

**Beginnings: A Remembrance**

**Commerce Clearance Station**

**Kalat Arm**

**Wild Space**

**33 ABY**

Sivi sat down behind the desk for the first time. It was a simple desk, mostly, and she found that pleasant. It was prefabricated, the same kind of desk used by the Imperial customs officials who had originally built the station. That part was significantly less satisfying; she had few fond memories of the Empire, though they did build to last. The Imperial decorations were gone now, everything had long since been cleaned away, and now a new set of colors, a bland combination of white, gray, and dull red, graced the office.

Those were the colors that matched the name plate on the edge of the office: Kalat Arm Trade Bureau. Slightly smaller letters beneath this declaration gave the title of the occupant of this particular desk, a position Sivi still felt rather embarrassed to possess. Chief Administrative Officer of this crazed experiment, she shook her head silently. How did I let them talk me into this?

It had been inaugurated on the thirtieth anniversary of driving the Empire from the region, a date Sivi thought poorly chosen for the first government to claim any sort of control over something larger than a system in the Kalat Arm since the Empire to be created. Of course, the mandate the KAT-B, as people were already starting to call it, had been given was minimalist at best. Even that much may prove almost impossible, she grimaced. Well, I suppose I should get to work then.

Not five minutes later, as Sivi was still reviewing how her accounts had been set up, the door pinged.

She pushed the chair back and was on her feet in suspicion instantly. No visitors had been scheduled and old military habits died hard, especially in such dangerous space as this. It took considerable will to refrain from pulling her blaster pistol. I can't possibly be an assassination target, she thought ironically. No one wants this job.

"Who's there?" she demanded, depressing the intercom button.

"Ah, a most important guest, Chief Administrator," the secretary droid in the reception room beyond answered. "I've buzzed him in."

Sivi's eyes narrowed and her fingers tightened on the grip of her gun. There were only a very small number of people who the droid had instructions to admit without question. Most had better courtesy than this, and all knew better than to surprise someone who'd spent over five decades as a combat sniper.

The door whisked open and her sense of imminent danger vanished the moment she recognized the visitor, though she did not relax. This guest was not to be taken lightly, and his demonstration that her secretary droid could be hacked was simply a small reminder in kind. Slowly, with a calm and steadying breath, Sivi pulled her hand from the pistol and raised it to her forehead. Standing straight she saluted formally. "Welcome your Excellency, a most unexpected pleasure to see you."

Her guest was propelled forward on a completely silent hoversled, making use of state of the art micro-repulsors. This turned about as he made his way into the rather small open space of the office, revealing a corpulent gray bulk. "Yes, yes, thank you," the massive mouth could manage Basic only with difficulty, always sounding wheezy and weak, but it was a gesture of courtesy Sivi appreciated. "Sorry to drop in like this, but I wanted to be the first to appear and offer my congratulations on the new position."

It took a considerable reach down into her core of professionalism for Sivi to avoid giggling a bit at this pronouncement. It was an abject falsehood, of course, and came from the throat of the very being that was sure to be the most significant opponent of everything the KAT-B did for years, but even to someone who had lived for years in politics, it was impossible not to hear sincerity in the words. The desire to laugh came from the fact that it was such an absurd way for a Hutt to begin a conversation, but then it was always that way with Xerweg. He, unlike so many others of his kind, had worked long and hard to master the concept of sounding decent and even nice while conducting his backstabbing.

Legend and rumor said Xerweg had taken flak for his 'kind words' from his Hutt kin for decades, maybe even centuries. Well, who's laughing now I wonder? Sivi thought with a dark smile. "You have my thanks, of course, and please know that Xerweg Desilijic Nurge is always welcome in the offices of the Kalat Arm Trade Bureau."

"Ah, ah, excellent," Xerweg wheezed. "But I do not think you shall see too much of me after this."

These words triggered a strange set of thoughts, and Sivi looked at the Hutt again, at his massive, slug-like body, all gray and gruesome. Looking at it like that beyond the usual disgusting surface that was all most humanoids would see, she observed something else, something easily missed. Old, he looks old and tired. Sivi had not the Force-enhanced vision of so many of her Zeison Sha friends, but her own people, the Sephi, counted their fair share of long years. It was enough to reveal to her the signs of aging even in a being as ancient as a Hutt. He is older than Jabba was they say, perhaps considerably so, and thirty years is not the blink of an eye even for a Hutt. "And why is that, your Excellency?" Sivi asked carefully. "Surely there is much business to be done between this office and the head of the largest shipping concern in the Kalat Arm." That the shipping concern in question was also the largest crime syndicate in the region and had considerable influence under other names in more distant portions of the galaxy went without saying.

"All too true, all too true," Xerweg nodded his great head. "A great deal of business for Longrun Shipping, oh yes; profitable times these, very profitable." He licked his lips, possibly without even knowing it. "But it doesn't have the same charm it once did you know," he gave a knowing wide mouth grin Sivi found terrifying not in its assumptions, but in the empathy it engendered. Xerweg was a vile gangster of the worst stripe; she should not be finding common ground with this creature. "Not the same degree of challenge either," The Hutt continued.

"Not a challenge?" Sivi raised an eyebrow. "But these are great times in the Kalat Arm. We have a new government, new prosperity, and all of the new immigrants because of the…" she stopped, realizing what Xerweg meant with shocking suddenness. "War." She ended limply.

"Yes, the War," Xerweg's great eyes got briefly misty. "I did very well in the war, but I suppose you know that, all those bookkeeping requests and all. Very well, indeed, and everyone else, well…"

Sivi interrupted, not wanting to have to deal with a Hutt waxing melancholic. "Hutt Space suffered greatly from the Yuuzhan Vong, yes, and you have my sympathies over that."

"You have mine also," Xerweg replied with a courtesy that, for a marvel, Sivi somehow knew was truly genuine. Faraway in the Mid Rim, Thustra, homeworld of the Sephi, had been occupied and mangled by the Yuuzhan Vong as well. Sivi had fought among those who had freed it, but the wounds would never truly heal.

"Perhaps your duty can keep you here," Xerweg continued. "You are still young enough, but I'm growing old, and I feel it deep inside. Nal Hutta and the homeworlds are calling to me. I'm going to wrap up affairs and then head home very soon now; I don't think I could avoid it even if I wanted too."

Xerweg the Hutt leave? It was as if you were told a mountain would vanish from the landscape. Denial was the only initial reaction possible. "Go home? Leave the business? The Run? Everything? That would be cataclysmic, who will take control?" Sivi's mind raced down a path wherein there was no steadying Hutt presence in control of Smuggler's Run and all the Fringe activity it spawned throughout the Kalat Arm and elsewhere. It would not be like Nandreeson, he had ignored them as a backwater and even then Xerweg had pulled strings from afar. We are not a backwater anymore, Sivi knew. Not as one of the few lands untouched by the Yuuzhan Vong.

"I have taken measures," Xerweg replied forcefully, pulling his bulk upright in full Hutt majesty. "Longrun Shipping will endure, have no fear. I am not Jabba, my gains shall last long past me!" Less pompously he added. "My granddaughter, Educca Desilijic Nurge, has the ability to succeed me and take over management of my concerns in the Kalat Arm. I am going to make it official soon. I wished to inform you first, as a courtesy."

It was hardly that, Sivi recognized. Her acting upon this information from the perspective of law enforcement would elevate Educca, and provide its own form of confirmation for the new crime-lord. It would also buy a measure of protection, for they both knew that a stable criminal syndicate was in the best interests of the Kalat Arm, the KAT-B was not strong enough, might never be strong enough, to fill those gaps. "Your graciousness is most appreciated your Excellency," Sivi replied.

Xerweg turned about, looking at the office. "Old Imperial work is it not? Hmmm…" he rumbled deep in his great Hutt belly. "Those were the days, the Occupation. That was a real time to be alive in the Kalat Arm."

"Oh really?" Sivi quirked a smile. "I seem to recall you saw it differently at the time, something abut how 'You Resistance doggerel! Between you and the Empire you'll drive me to ulcers!'" She couldn't avoid chuckling a little at that, both for the remark itself and at the absurdity of reminiscing with a Hutt.

The Hutt's laugh was immense and deep in reply, the way only a Hutt could laugh, and so seldom heard, for their mirth was not often genuine. "Oh yes, I know, but the memories are so much richer from those days, so much more vibrant. Not like this last war, all grubby, ugly, and brutish. Such senseless butchers the Yuuzhan Vong, no pride in the craftsmanship of war and conquest, just disgusting."

"May I ask, what will you do going back to Nal Hutta?" That world was a blasted wasteland, scourged by massive Vongforming. Thustra's suffering had been tame by comparison.

Xerweg actually winked at her. "I'm going to spend, spend, and spend some more," he laughed, this time with typical Hutt villainy. "They all said I was nothing, a nobody, for working out here, on the edge of the galaxy, well they got theirs for trying to play with the Yuuzhan Vong, and I lost nothing. I'm richer than ever, and I'm going to give them all loans and rebuild Nal Hutta. They'll call me 'Xerweg the Savior' you watch, I've already started the rumor-mongers on it. It'll beat the stuffing out of the legacy of anyone who ever mocked me."

Sivi gave a broad smile. "I wish you every success," she told Xerweg, and meant it. Why not? It was only an accident of galactic geography that had insulated the Kalat Arm from the war, but if Xerweg could turn that into leverage among all Hutts, well, how could she not cheer for the slimy race to get such delicious comeuppance.

"Haha, you are a sly one," Xerweg chuckled. "I'll have to tell Educca to be very careful with you." He paused, and his eyes drifted back and forth slowly. "It's a shame it'll be the Yuuzhan Vong to make me famous though, to make anyone famous. Such a waste, I'd rather be famous for the Occupation."

"Surely you still will be?" Sivi questioned, genuinely confused. Xerweg had played both sides off against each other with fabulous skill during the struggle between Resistance and Empire in the Kalat Arm. "It would be hard to leave you out of those stories."

"Will anyone tell those stories? I wonder…" Xerweg looked toward the ceiling, but the Hutt seemed to be staring much further, deep into space, and perhaps even toward the edge of the galaxy, not far away in the wisp of the Kalat Arm. "We Hutts see the arc of history with more clarity than short lived humans. In a thousand years will anyone care about the fight with the Empire of Palpatine? Or will they simply talk about the 'decades of chaos preceding the invasion.'"

In the silence that followed Sivi considered this thought. She had fought in battles since before the Clone Wars and she by no means believed she was free of picking up the rifle again before her years came to an end in another hundred and fifty years or so. Xerweg is right; it was the Empire that was the great moment, not the lies of the Clone Wars or the thuggery of the Yuuzhan Vong. That was where the best stories lay. "I do not think we will forget the occupation years anytime soon, not in this region," she told Xerweg, feeling a growing sense of conviction. "But I will make sure those stories are waiting to be heard, at least."

"That is very good of you," Xerweg nodded. "Now I must be going, thank you for your time Chief Administrator. I am sure I will call upon your office again soon."

"A pleasure, your Excellency." Sivi bowed her head slightly as the Hutt reversed his repulsorsled and floated out.

When he had gone she got swiftly back to the work of the day, but not before making one small addition to her assignments program: find a way to start historical arts program – Imperial Occupation.

Some things were too important to ignore, even when it was a Hutt as the messenger.

**Story Notes**

This short piece is designed as a frontispiece to the collection to follow, and takes place many years after everything else will. References to canon events are intended to be as accurate as possible, something I intend to preserve throughout the collection.

Informational Notes:

The name Kalat Arm is made up by me, but the region in question is canonical. It is the distinctive terminal arm in the southeastern portion of the Star Wars galaxy map. Using the Essential Atlas grid it contains stars falling within: Q-20 and Q-21; R-18, R-19, and R-20; S-18 and S-19. This is analogous to the Tingel Arm on the other side of the galaxy, it is considered part of Wild Space.

Sivi is a Sephi, a near-human species introduced in the Jedi:Yoda comic. Sephi lifespans can reach 400 years.


	2. Choice: Twisted Branches

**Choice: Twisted Branches**

**Penslin System**

**Kalat Arm Provisional Zone**

**Wild Space**

**7 BBY**

"Okay, smash and grab time people, keep it quick and simple," Lieutenant Yalil's voice remained steady over the com. "We hit 'em, scatter 'em, and then we take whatever we can and hit the road before help arrives. Final check, all units report."

The words filled Tivae with a shudder of anticipation. The moment was at hand, and she could feel the rush of approaching violence.

"_Black Manta_ standing by," the voice of Jer Felspar, the pilot of their critical Barloz freighter, answered first.

"Serpents standing by," the quiet whisper of Zimick, leader of their commando unit, chirped over the comlink.

Then it was Tivae's turn. She gave a quick glance, all indicators were green. "Nimbus flight standing by."

"Operation is go, repeat, operation is go," Yalil ordered. "Nimbus Flight, begin strafing run."

Tivae didn't particularly like taking orders from the by-the-book Duros commander, Clone Wars experience or not. Still, all her irritation disappeared as she received that command. "Come on boys, let's go!" she shouted over the channel to the other pilots in her flight even as she slammed down on the accelerator.

Rattling more than a little, a sign that the battered starfighter needed an engine repair, Tivae's fighter blasted free of the valleys where she'd been waiting in a stealthy holding pattern and roared over the forested expanse of Penslin's single continent. Three other fighters, of the same class but sufficiently battered by their long service they were no longer identical, formed up behind her. Engines screaming they pushed to full speed for a brief few seconds before pulling back hard, dropping velocity at just the right moment to give them a strafing window.

The target was tiny, a circle burned into the woodland canopy no more than one hundred meters wide. They would only get a few shots. "I wish I had more weapons," Tivae cursed as she dialed up her targeting computer. "Well, this ought to be enough for you Imps!" Her gloved finger slammed down on the trigger and she opened up with her fighter's single powerful laser cannon.

Bolts of ruby energy pummeled at the encampment, targeting the tripod-mounted guns and other anti-infantry defenses the Imperial Army had erected against intruders and predators. Explosions ripped through the forest and a dozen small fires were set instantly from the massive discharge of energy.

It was not completely one-sided. The Imperials had reacted swiftly to the warning from their sensors when the starfighters emerged from hiding, and army troopers manned the E-webs and portable missile systems, scrambling to return fire.

Tivae laughed, and rolled into the teeth of the enemy attack. Not nearly enough, she thought. Her Scyk might be terribly under-gunned as a fighter, but it was a tough, scrappy little bastard. Nothing the army troopers had down there had any chance of penetrating her shields and armor plating. The return fire only made it easier to zero in on targets and blast them to scrap.

Then, all too quickly, they were past, putting forest between their exhaust and the Imperial camp behind. Instinctively Tivae began to roll. "Fall in Nimbus," she ordered. "We'll come around for a second pass."

"Negative Nimbus flight," Yalil's calm Duros voice interjected. "_Black Manta_'s tracking a half-squadron of fighters coming in hot. They must have been conducting an exercise when we launched. They'll be here before we have time to load." A hint of resignation entered the Duros' words. "I'm afraid we'll have to scrap the mission."

"No way, Lieutenant!" Tivae protested without even thinking first. "We need those supplies!"

"We can't load them under fire," Yalil replied, never losing his cool. "I won't send the Serpents to die needlessly."

Reaching a spontaneous decision, Tivae turned her Scyk onto a new heading. Instinctively, schooled by the long hours spent together, the other three pilots of Nimbus flight turned to follow. "Then we'll intercept the fighters. It's a perfect way to buy time and rob the Imps of some toys."

"Negative, negative!" Yalil protested. "You're outnumbered! We can't lose your fighters!"

"Stuff it Lieutenant, we're doing it!" Tivae shouted back before closing the connection and punching the accelerator. Switching to her flights private channel, she called the other members of her little group. "We're engaging six oncoming fighters to buy everyone else time. Anyone got any bright ideas?"

"We're with you sir," the youthful support of Weller Mak was comforting, but not especially helpful.

"Rrrr," Sraig, Nimbus Four, replied in typical Aegrit fashion, without bothering to use syllables. Tivae recognized the grim-faced near-human's affirmation, however.

"My sensors show they're probably A-7's commander," Leedo, the Rodian who served as Nimbus Three and the most experienced of them all, noted. "Fast, but fragile, wanna play tree tag?"

"Sounds good," Tivae smiled beneath her flight helmet. "I'll go low, you go high." Her hands tightened around the control stick. It was time to show the Imps just who they were messing with.

Leedo and Sraig peeled off, gaining altitude as they approached their enemies. The A-7 Hunters were unimpressive things, little inverted v-shapes, cylindrical engines on the outer spars and a cockpit with two under slung swivel-mounted laser cannons in the center. Fragile little speedy things, Tivae smirked. I'll take my Scyk over one any day.

The Scyk, with its flat profile, didn't look like much either, but the pilot knew her ship well. Inching lower she scrapped the treetops, waiting to close the distance. How will the Imps break?

At maximum range the Imperials moved, four A-7s blasting straight ahead while two ran interference against the upper group of opponents. Laser bolts flashed as all ten ships opened fire at this point, hoping to change the odds with a lucky hit.

Tivae had a slightly different scheme in mind. Normally, skimming the treetops stole maneuverability, making you an easier target. Dodging, however, wasn't her plan. With the slightest of nudges on the control stick the pilot pointed the nose of her fighter down, brushing into the very upper edge of the verdant expanse.

The bushy canopy of the trees was light and fluffy, but at this speed the immense force of impact buffeted the Scyk like a stampede of Reeks, sending alarms screaming through the cockpit. Tivae ignored them, shunting auxiliary power to shields and praying for her hull to hold together. Then, after long, brutal seconds, she pulled up, bursting free of the treetops and putting everything into the climb.

A huge cloud of leaves, dust, branches, and debris had been kicked up by the maneuver, obscuring sensors and playing havoc with the battlefield. From above, as preplanned, Leedo and Sraig dove their fighters in a corkscrew approach straight into this obscuring cloud, pulling their opponents down after them, even as Tivae and Weller shot up to meet them.

Desperate fire from the main group of Imperials burned through the air as the enemy pilots realized too late they'd been had and tried to even the odds. The two A-7s above attempted to pull away, but in atmosphere they couldn't maneuver as in space, and this reaction only held them into the dive longer, right into the sights of the two rising Scyks.

Tivae's finger slammed down on the firing stud, launching a blistering stream of fire. Lacking shields or heavy armor, it took only one solid connection to reduce her target A-7 to a ball of flaming debris. Weller took a moment longer to line up his shot, but the end result was the same. "Flip around and hit 'em again!" Tivae shouted triumphantly as Leedo and Sraig disappeared into the cloud of verdant mess, obscured from the enemy so the critical pass was wasted. Her own fighter spun in a wingover, flipping back to zero in on the Imperials.

Stuck out on a desolation posting like Penslin, and in aging A-7s when almost everyone in the Empire now used TIEs, these pilots were not the cream of the Imperial crop. Nevertheless, they'd survived the academy, so they weren't complete idiots. The four remaining fighters broke by wing pairs and looped away; reset the battlefield. Tivae pulled around to follow the eastern group, Weller tucking in to follow, but their fighters couldn't match the maneuverability of the Hunters, and there was no chance to sit in on their tails.

"We're caught between them," Leedo noted as he emerged from the rapidly-dissipating cloud.

"Pull west," Tivae ordered. "And evade." The Imperials were going to close on her comrades, but they'd have to slow down to do so, giving her a chance. She put every bit of available power to engines. "Come on, come on," she urged her ship. The engine ground noisily in protest, but the Mandalorian-made Scyk found the extra juice somewhere, and surged forward.

Laser blasts hammered at the shields of her fellow Nimbuses as Tivae finally entered range, but the inexperienced A-7s had trusted in their speed and weren't at all evasive. The minute she hit range the targeting computer pinged with a lock.

Trigger down, lasers flashed, and another explosion ripped through the air.

Tivae turned toward the other, but it had already broken off, taking a maximum evasion course to loop out. For long seconds she was an idle observer, watching Leedo and Sraig charge into a head to head with their opponents.

"Grrrargh!" the Aegrit howled into the com, deep voice full of fury, and pushed acceleration forward into a head-on charge at his enemy.

The Imperial flinched, and Sraig vaped him with a single shot.

Leedo passed closer. The Rodian jinked his fighter about, dodging and weaving. The veteran pilot was an excellent flyer, far better than his enemy, and Tivae knew he would pass through, and she lined up to hit the Hunter as it broke away from the end of the pass. Got you now! She almost shrieked in triumph.

Then something happened.

Leedo's Scyk lurched to the side, spinning wildly, descending toward the canopy. "Stabilizer…" the Rodian's voice jolted through the com and he struggled for control.

"No!" Tivae felt the universe slow down as she watched the Imperial pilot adjust, making use of his swivel-mount to swing the laser cannons around and bullseye Leedo's fighter. The first pair of bolts burned through the shields. The second ripped the fighter apart.

"Bastard!" Tivae shouted in rage, even as the Imperial miscalculated, staying on course after the kill just an instant too long. When he broke, two paths of laser fire converged inexorably from both sides. Moments later his fighter was ash.

The final A-7 tried to turn about and escape, but ran straight into a barrage from Sraig. The Aegrit pilot was silent in his vengeance.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!" Tivae slammed her hands against the viewport repeatedly, venting her rage. She regained a tenuous control several breaths later. "Form up," she told the flight, trying not to think of her fallen friend, a companion through many battles. Dreading what she would hear now, she flipped on the general com.

"Nimbus flight, do you copy, I repeat, do you copy," Yalil's steady voice demanded.

"I copy Lieutenant," Tivae felt ashes with every word. It sank in that not only had she lost a friend and an irreplaceable fighter, she'd disobeyed orders. A trifecta of failure the Discblade Alliance would not take kindly.

"Good," Yalil noted. "Turn your flight to point 8.5 and move to escort position for the _Black Manta_. Mission successful, we're pulling out."

"Successful…" she could hardly believe her ears. Yalil had followed her plan and gone ahead with the ground portion of the raid anyway. All the hardware in the Imperial supply camp, it was now theirs. Was this a victory? She shook her head. Not with Leedo gone it's not. There are no victories, not until we drive the Empire away for good. "I copy command," Tivae heard herself say. "Forming up for escort duty." She knew she'd accept whatever punishment the Duros officer set without complaint, and next time she'd listen better to his experience. He'd known what she was still learning. Sometimes, even if you can win, you'll still lose. There would be no quick victories against the Empire, Tivae recognized for perhaps the first time. She'd have to be ready to lose a lot more.

**Story Notes**

This is a simple and short piece, but I feel it captures a lot of the essence of the character of the conflict, and serves as a fun little action-oriented intro to this project.

Informational Notes:

The fighters used here are canon vessels, the A-7 Hunter Interceptor was a Kuat Drive Yards ship passed over in favor of the TIE model but a great number were purchased and served in remote areas. The M-3A Scyk was a simple starfighter produced during the Dark Times and heavily used by criminal groups.

The Aegrit pilot, Sraig, represents a species of my own creation, whose taboos mean they speak mostly in grunts and growls. I hope to return to them later.


	3. Cracks in the Vapor

**Cracks in the Vapor**

**Smuggler's Run**

**Kalat Arm**

**Wild Space**

**1 BBY**

It began with the droid.

Xulin noticed it right away; she was always noticing things other people missed. It might be said that was her occupation, and as good a career as any for one who called the Smuggler's Run home. She'd trained her senses to notice others, even as they ignored her in turn.

When you were silent, masked, and wore an environment suit the same color as asteroid rock it was almost too easy to fade into the shadowy background of the universe. It just took practice, training, and knowledge of the minds of cops and criminals. Of course a little natural talent didn't hurt.

So did a smidgen touch of the Force.

Xulin was a freelancer, people who knew people in the Run, and in a place like this that was everyone who kept breathing past a certain timeframe, were aware she did survey, scouting, and surveillance work, specializing in hostile atmospheres or none at all. They also knew she was willing to play the informant; when the risk was manageable and the credits were good.

It was all very typical of one of the Run's native daughters, and equally so of the xenophobic Ubese. Few expected them to take on roles involving much conversation.

Fewer still knew she was Zeison Sha.

She intended to keep it that way.

The droid too, it was hiding some strange secret. It had arrived on the Run via a refugee transport, surrounded by the other sad and battered unfortunates choosing this dangerous road of bribes and bargains because they feared Imperial Customs more. All for a chance at a new life in the Kalat Arm, a chance to build a life in Wild Space free of whatever hardships had shattered their prior existence.

Xulin did not think much of this option. Survival is a battle in every environment; the rules just get tweaked as you move from place to place. Besides, you could not outrun the fires of war in this age. There was nowhere the Empire had not managed to spread them. It's probably what the Imps are best at, she joked darkly.

The droid, though it had arrived with refugees, was not one of their disheveled numbers, nor was it the property of one. Above all it was not what it initially appeared to be.

Outwardly it had the chassis of a BLX Labor Droid, an old but sturdy general purpose design still common in the Kalat Arm, where 'new' could be applied to anything sold less than three times, but it was no such simple labor unit. Those bulky broad humanoid models moved with contented, forceful efficiency, as if their very act of transit was a task to be performed with due diligence.

This droid had a strange awkwardness, as if it were trying to move with metallic poise only to find the thuggish structure of its limbs held it back. Xulin could not quite figure out what this meant. A programming error of some kind? Maybe some aftermarket modification failing to mesh properly? Or perhaps someone has filled the droid's internal voids with valuable contraband?

Experience, bolstered by a little nudge from the Force, told the young Zeison Sha she should follow the droid. At the very least it was the most promising prospect to emerge from the liner. It seems master-less, she noted after a few moments careful observation. At the very least I can claim it as salvage and sell it off. Such an old model would be worth little, but every credit mattered in the resistance.

Awkward motion or not the droid made steady progress and a good go of disappearing into back alleys and then unused service tunnels deep in the belly of Skip One. Tireless and surprisingly swift, especially as it made full use of magnetic feet to walks up walls and over ledges, the Ubese had to work hard to keep up. As they journeyed deeper into the abyssal cracks riddling the great asteroid, light sources gradually faded, until only the low glow of red and green indicator panels of environmental machines provided any illumination. She wished briefly her quarry was organic. Then she could track him through the Force, it would be much easier. As it was she remained thankful for her helmet. Its light amplification systems banished the darkness and rendered the world a faded turquoise.

Eventually the droid came to a stop at the T-intersection deep in an area of Skip One where even Xulin, who had explored the many secret tunnels for fun as a child, had never been. The machine approached from the bottom of the T, and knelt before a tiny alcove against the opposite wall.

The Zeison Sha could not see what it was doing, for the tunnel was part of the air filtration system and foul green fumes billowed through the volume. Her helmet's systems protected her lungs from the toxins, but the cloud of vapor made it impossible to see detail at any reasonable distance. Nevertheless, it was easy enough to guess the droid was accessing some kind of hidden cache; though whether goods, information, credits, or something more exotic was impossible to know.

Then there was a sudden creeping intrusion of noise into the silence; the crisp sound of hard boots over the brittle ice and stone of the asteroid. It echoed through the Force as well, multiple men were coming, and their intent was focused and dark. Definitely not a maintenance crew.

Bereft of the Force's assistance the droid stood, shuffling about rapidly as it scanned for the newcomers, red photoreceptors beaming through the haze.

The Zeison Sha shrank back into a crevice. Until she knew who these men were it would not do to be observed. Most likely this was some conflict between the complex tendrils of criminality infesting Smuggler's Run. She had no interest or desire to meddle in such matters. However, she un-strapped the blaster rifle from her shoulder as a precaution.

It was the BLX who got the first look at the men, and Xulin knew it must not have liked what it saw.

The droid tried to run, but made it only three steps before a crackling discharge of energy impacted on the stone before it. The hallway was briefly illuminated as the ion blast writhed snake-like across conducting surfaces before dissipating.

"Don't even think about it!" a strong voice called through the chamber.

The droid froze, and rapid footfalls heralded the appearance of four men in Xulin's sight at the intersection.

Though they had dressed as common spacers do, plus the addition of breath masks to fend off the poisoned atmosphere, they were no simple spaceport toughs. The lead man carried a powerful ion rifle, an uncommon weapon intended specifically for use on droids. He had a holstered blaster pistol on his hip, but his companions carried theirs out and ready.

Who are you? Xulin wondered, and with all the deftness she could muster reached toward them in the Force.

A smoldering fire of dark and satisfied emotions, bound by steely threads of professional discipline, answered back but it provided no real clues. Even without the Force the men's stances revealed they were pros, but they could be mercenaries, bountry hunters, law enforcement, or much more with only that. All she could really tell was they planned to destroy the droid before it was all over.

"Keep those hands spread where I can see them," the leader said. "No funny business or I'll be taking what I want from your brain the hard way."

"If you destroy me you will never get your hands on it," the droid replied sternly, unafraid.

It doesn't sound like a BLX, Xulin reasoned. This thought spurred a flash of connecting inspiration. And those guys don't sound like the Rim.

"Don't try to play games droid scum," the man gestured with the ion rifle. "This mission had to have been hard wired into your circuits, and the integration code with it. I'll find it from the pieces if I have to after reducing your processor to sludge," he grinned wickedly. "But that would be slow, and I like quick results. So why don't you give me what I want and maybe I'll let you live. You do want to live, don't you?"

"Droid though I may be, I still have my pride. I would never dishonor the trust placed upon me in such a fashion," it was something no BLX would ever say, but Xulin was no longer listening.

He's undergone coaching to remove any accent, but he's still too academy cadenced, and thinks he's innately superior, the way only Core Worlders are. That was the only fact needed to snap the solution into place. There was only one institution employing plainclothes paramilitary men from the Core Worlds in the Run: The Imperial Security Bureau.

Xulin's mind switched into a different wavelength; from survivor to deadly killer. It was an Ubese trick that dovetailed naturally with Zeison Sha outlook. The strange droid became an afterthought; the golden opportunity to ambush four ISB Agents the imperative.

The Zeison Sha didn't believe in honorable battle, and any such notions had been beaten out of the Ubese when the Republic reduced their homeworld to irradiated wasteland millennia ago. Xulin raised her blaster rifle, took careful aim, and sent a bolt streaking at the closest agent's right temple.

Despite the obscuring mists the range was far too short for there to be any real possibility of a miss against a stationary target.

Dead instantly the man crumpled into a heap.

The ISB Agents were not true soldiers, but they were trained for chaotic messes. Reacting quickly, each man hit the floor and sprayed return fire in the other direction.

Nothing came close to Xulin, but she couldn't squeeze off a hit, and the concealing gas proved considerably less than inert. Little explosions of flame and a small storm of lightning from the ion blaster briefly turned on the candlepower with the force of multiple flares triggered in tandem.

"Stang!' Xulin hissed, temporarily blinded as her helmet's compensation was overloaded.

Anger is without direction. It kills focus and turns a warrior into a beast. One of Xulin's Zeison Sha mentors had taught her this, and recalling it now she took a quick steadying breath and then reached out in the Force to the nearest ISB Agent.

A Jedi would have acted with delicacy and finesse and pulled the man's breath mask off to let him choke and die in the gasses.

Xulin thought this cruel and despicable.

She grabbed the man with the Force and hurled him with all her strength into the nearest wall. His skull shattered.

When you hold a weapon you foe cannot match, deal swift death. Only psychopaths and cats play games with lives. She had always thought it a wise lesson, and fair.

"Sha!" one of the remaining agents bellowed. The ISB knew what opposed them in the Kalat Arm. He jumped up, firing randomly, and tried to retreat.

Xulin's vision had partially restored, but a shot was still impossible.

She didn't bother. With a touch of boosting from the Force to invigorate her limbs she simply charged, letting her unearthly senses guide her to the target.

The closest blaster bolt passed half a meter over her head just before she bayoneted the agent in the gut.

Eyes wide in shock the Imperial gasped, gurgled, and dropped his pistol from limp fingers.

Xulin yanked the weapon free and blasted him between the eyes. No reason to make him suffer.

"Impressive," a voice spoke from behind the Ubese. "Always impressive you Zeison Sha, for barbarian dogs."

Xulin had put the leader on hold. An ion blaster couldn't kill her, and the Force had warned her of no attacks, but as the flare afterimage dissipated she understood why her enemy remained so calm.

The man had dropped his ion rifle and now held his pistol in the right hand.

In his left, palm up, thumb high, rested an armed thermal detonator.

"Well, that sucks hard vac," Xulin muttered.

"Doesn't it now?" the man almost cackled. "Attack and I release the deadman switch: we both die. But if I just shoot you, well, that's my win. So what'll it be Res Scum? Going to run like a coward or take an open-handed offer from the Empire?"

Defiant fury welled up in Xulin, but the core survivor in her, the Ubese girl from Smuggler's Run, stayed absolutely motionless.

"As a counteroffer, perhaps a dose of closed-handed rigor mortis?" a deep and deadpan voice resounded.

Twin gasps rang out as a massive blue arm reached out from the darkness and clamped down on the operative's left hand.

Designed to carry large objects, the fingers of the BLX chassis were considerably larger than a standard human's and with bone-crunching power pressed the hand into a permanent grip on the detonator.

The ISB agent tried to angle his right arm for one final defiant shot, but Xulin, reacting on instinct, slapped out a tendril of the Force. The limb went vertical and the bolt struck the ceiling.

With the other hand the labor droid's grip snapped the Imperial's neck.

"Not bad," Xulin murmured, her gratitude obscured by the flat and mechanical voice encoding provided via her helmet. "Thanks for the assistance." She paused, and then worriedly pointed at the thermal detonator. "That thing's still armed."

"Don't worry; I have no intention of letting go." The droid replied. "Ever." There was a loud click, and then a sequence of clacks and clanks as pieces of the droid's chassis started to simply fall off. In a moment the BLX labor unit was gone and a much smaller, slimmer, and far deadlier humanoid unit of slender limbs and fast servos stood atop a pile of plates and actuators.

"Interesting," It brought to the Ubese's mind an old phrase some of the human smugglers used. "A wolf in sheep's clothing?"

"I took the shell from a long ago deactivated labor droid," the new droid had an optical visor of pale blue instead of distinct photoreceptors. "It is far more common a make than my own, and served a good camouflage."

"Not good enough," Xulin said flatly. Still focused on the detonator, now held in a grip it would take several centuries of rust to relax, she asked. "Are you going to disarm that or do we need to find a place to space it?"

The limber droid squatted down, a motion demonstrating its complexity. Few droids were able to move in such flexible fashion. "Let us see, I believe it is a simple matter of moving the switch to…" the droid pressed an actuator on the discarded BLX hand. The red warning lights on the deadly explosive ball pulsed once, and then quieted.

"Finished," the droid palmed the powerful weapon and sprang upright. "I should thank you for your intervention. I could not have fought them off alone, especially encased as I was."

"I didn't do it for you," Xulin replied with blunt honesty. "They were ISB; those don't get to go on breathing in the Kalat Arm."

"Your intervention was fortuitous, nevertheless, and I am grateful," The droid bent smoothly at the waist to bow. "I am known as Etch."

"What kind of droid are you?" droids of every shape and description passed through the Run, but this one was not familiar to the Zeison Sha.

Etch straightened to his full height, standing a few centimeters taller than the short Ubese woman. "I am a Trang Robotics Duelist Elite."

She'd heard of them. They were supposed to be the best melee trainer money could buy, and it was a lot of money indeed. Stories say the Sha Kalan had a pair, before we had to bury it to hide from Imperial bombardment. "You're an expensive piece of property then," Xulin noted. "Who sent you here? And what were you doing that those ISB Agents wanted it so bad?"

"As grateful as I am for your assistance madam," Etch protested. "That is a private matter I will not divulge to a stranger."

"Hate to break it to you Etch," Xulin snapped, though her helmet turned it into a steady, menacing cadence of words. "But you haven't got much choice. You're involved in something important enough it drew four ISBs to the Run, a place where everyone's got a gun in each hand and most would bag an Imp out of shear spite. If you think you get to walk off without the say-so of the Discblade Alliance, think again."

"The Discblade Alliance would seem to mean you then. Acting on behalf of a whole resistance group are we?" Etch noted skeptically.

"You see any other operatives?" she retorted impatiently. "I'm Xulin, Etch, and as these dead men recognized, I'm Zeison Sha. I am not a thief. I'm not going to rob you, but I will know if this is a threat to the Kalat Arm or the Discblade Alliance." Her temper rose as she spoke. Xulin hated explanations of simple reality; it made her feel like some kind of ideologue.

"I see," Etch paused. "Very well. I was sent here to fulfill my master's final wish, a latent directive triggered in me during the reading of his will."

How absurdly upper crust, Xulin thought wryly. Not relinquishing a hold on property even after death. It was not something an Ubese could easily comprehend.

"The directive came equipped with an extremely complex decryption program, one that is needed to access the cached data I was to retrieve. It was hidden here some decades previous." Etch continued.

"And what is the data?" Xulin demanded.

"I do not have that information," Etch's head rotated slowly from side to side in disappointment. "However, I suspect it involved the banking operations on Christophsis, where he was a powerful man. I am sure the ISB had a mole in the household who knew a valuable legacy had been hidden away. Likely they followed me through financial transactions. I was not able to acquire hard currency until stopping at Wrea, and credited several expenses to the estate."

The Zeison Sha considered it a believable story. She knew the Empire was trying to bring the rich tyrants of that planet under its thumb. Some of the local smugglers were making good money because of it. "So what happens when you get the data?"

Etch paused briefly. "I have to admit I am not certain. I was to deliver it to a certain Muun on Eriadu, but apparently he was killed by a bounty hunter before I reached Wrea. I hope that when I decode the data I will either receive a new directive or the proper course of action will suggest itself."

"So retrieve it," Xulin suggested. "We'll see what happens when it's in hand."

"The data cache is a hidden packet loop in this maintenance interchange," Etch explained. "I had almost gotten to the access point when I was interrupted." The droid turned back to the wall and briefly fumbled with the systems. Not a mechanic or slicer herself, Xulin could only watch and listen through the Force for insight. "There it is," the duelist pulled a data jack from his mid torso. A brief whir of electronic activity followed and then the jack was returned to its obscure housing.

"Well?" Xulin demanded.

"I must confess I am somewhat surprised," Etch noted slowly and with a hint of sadness. "I had always though my master an ethical man, at least by the standards of banking. It appears I was mistaken."

"How so?" Xulin asked, privately questioning if banking could even be said to have 'ethical standards.' At least piracy at gunpoint was an honest form of moral debasement, while bankers somehow pretended to be pillars of society.

"It seems that, early in life, my master was caught in some land-grab scheme by a Jedi," Xulin's attention came into deadly focus the moment she heard that final word. "He lost a tremendous amount of money and prestige, but the Jedi apparently let him avoid prison in return for copious donations to the poor and earnest effort to mend his ways."

Ever the fools, Xulin hissed silently inside her helmet. No doubt it would have been politically troublesome for the Jedi to give the banker a real punishment, so instead of lancing the problem it was left to fester.

"It seems that, in revenge, my master bought up the assets of as many Jedi and their relatives, as he could find. Shortly before the Clone Wars he converted it all into physical goods, mostly art, and then when war came to Christophsis reported it all as destroyed. What was cached here is the location and secure vault codes to where it all was stored."

"How much is it worth?" the Zeison Sha wondered, rather amused to learn the Jedi had been taken for a ride. Shame about the families, but she had only minimal sympathy for anyone who'd give their children away, or let a blood relation do the same.

"I could not say," Etch did that slow slide of the head again. "Art is highly variable to market changes. It would have to be professionally assessed; probably in the tens of millions range."

"Tens of millions?" Xulin sputtered, amazed at the droid's nonchalance. She almost salivated. Here in the Kalat Arm, on the edge of the known galaxy, that was an incredible fortune, the kind of money that bought capital ships! If I could get this for the Discblade Alliance…

But no, stolen funds or not, she was not a thief. At the moment Etch would have to make the choice. The droid clearly had a sufficiently developed personality that it was his right and responsibility to d so. "What will you do with it?" she asked, curious and worried all at once.

"A very difficult quandary," the droid sounded lost. "You see, there was a directive attached to the data. My master never was able to bury his hatred of the Jedi. In the absence of another recipient I am to use it to fund the enemies of the Jedi Order. He must not have updated the program since the end of the Clone Wars." Etch's photoreceptor lapsed into an odd cycle of dimming and brightening, a sure sign the droid's processor was under tremendous strain. "However, in the present state of the galaxy, that would mean donating the money to COMPNOR, or the ISB, or some other Imperial agency. They destroyed my master, how could I betray him in such a way? Yet how can I fail to carry out his final command?"

Xulin sympathized with the droid's plight. To be torn be competing duties was easy on no one worth knowing. In Etch's particular case the droid had clearly been programmed to adhere to some quaint, old-style code of 'honorable' conduct. This choice might very well overload him.

"Perhaps, Miss Xulin, it would be better if you simply destroyed me," the duelist offered with sudden fatalism. "That way the Empire will not receive anything, and if you had not acted I would have been destroyed anyway. It would be a death without shame."

"And let all the money go to waste?" the Zeison Sha exclaimed. "There must be a better way!" Idiot droid, he's acting almost as bad as the Jedi the money was stolen from in the first place.

The prejudiced thought gave her a great idea. "Why don't you give me the information instead?"

"Give it to you? But why?" Etch was blindsided. "You are practically a J-"

"Silence!" Xulin hissed. "Don't ever say I'm one of them. I can use the Force, but I am Zeison Sha. I am not a lost child indoctrinated into a self-righteous judgmental lightsaber-wielding vigilante." Her helmet's modulator took her voice down to depths of mechanical menace. "I am Zeison Sha, and when Order 66 was issued we cheered as the Jedi Order burned; even if the Emperor is as bad as it gets. I am Ubese, it was Jedi neglect that bathed our homeworld in nuclear flames and trapped us forever in plastoid second skins. The Empire is my enemy now, but should the Jedi Order ever rise again our discblades shall bar them from the Kalat Arm, by blood if need be."

"You certainly sound convincing, and the fallen ISB Agents are evidence that your Discblade Alliance is not simply a salon club," Etch noted gravely. "But I shall not be convinced by words alone."

"Oh?"

"I am a duelist," the droid dropped smoothly into a poised fighting stance. "To prove your worth you will have to defeat me in a duel."

Xulin smiled behind her mask. Maybe the effete bugger isn't so bad after all, she thought. A little talkative, but when you get down to bare wires he's got it set straight. "What are the weapons?"

"I prefer the blade," he explained. "You, the balster," his hand gestured to the rifle she carried. "A poor match up all around. So it will be bare fists instead."

"Agreed," Xulin was more than willing to scrap, she hadn't the droid's formal programming, but a childhood in Smuggler's Run was a schooling of its own. "And to win?"

"First strike to the head," Etch offered. "There should be little risk of permanent injury that way. Oh," he amended. "Strike as hard and fast as you are able, but if you grab at me with the Force I will never accept your victory."

"Done," Xulin agreed.

"Then we begin when you discard your rifle," Etch stood ready.

Carefully the Ubese woman undid the shoulder straps and placed her rifle in the right hand, so she could slide it away without risking damage against the rough asteroid surface.

Etch launched into an attack the moment the weapon left her hand.

"Fast!" Xulin, already backing up, having anticipated the assault, noted.

Two steps back and Xulin planted her right foot, spinning away from the droid and sweeping out with the left leg.

It caught on the body of a fallen ISB agent, knocking his arms into the air. The Zeison Sha grabbed and pulled continuing her spin for maximum leverage and hurling the flailing carcass at the advancing droid.

Etch raised both arms to block and thrust the body to the side with a mechanical strength greater than his lithe frame suggested. He jabbed with a quick left hand counter and side-stepped to avoid the follow-up.

Xulin attempted no such move, collapsing low instead and leading with her legs to tangle up the sure-footed droids stance.

The duelist reacted by springing upright, bouncing off the tunnel ceiling and coming down with both knees in front.

Two can play that game! Xulin rolled forward, tucking down to plant both hands and with all her strength, plus a jolt of Force assistance launched up in a wide leap. She kicked wildly as she passed.

Boots thudded against durasteel-coated arms as the droid made rapid blocks. He grabbed at the Ubese's arms as they flew past, and Xulin only barely managed to whip the limbs away from the phenomenally quick mechanical hands.

Instead she achieved a key instant's contact with the right shoulder of the duelist elite. Acting on a burst of intuition under gird with the knowledge she must achieve victory through a quick unconventional tactic or be ground down by the superior technique of her mechanical opponent, the Zeison Sha reached deep into herself and the Force for all the leverage she could manage.

She arced back and came down behind the duelist.

Etch's reaction was inhumanly fast, launching a spinning snap-kick Xulin could not block properly. It unleashed a burst of pain through her torso, insulating environment suit or no.

Xulin didn't care; she was looking past the pain to the prize. The droid's counter pulled her limbs out of position, but she had something else planned. Lunging bodily the Zeison Sha extended her neck and butted the front of her mask's extended muzzle into the droid's skull. "Got you!" she shouted triumphantly.

Then she immediately collapsed as Etch's counterstroke slammed across her back and threw her hard to the icy ground.

"You beat me without beating me,' Etch noted pointedly. "But a victory is a victory, and your willingness to endure blows to achieve it speaks to your dedication. Your Discblade Alliance shall have the vault access codes, Mistress."

"Wait, what did you just say," her body ringing with the force of impact, Xulin was still shaken as she slowly regained her feet.

"I said you had won, and I would honor the agreement Mistress," Etch explained patiently.

"Why are you suddenly calling me that?" Xulin felt something had changed. Something she hadn't bargained for at all.

"As I am the key to the contents of the vault and my former master's secret wealth it follows I am part of it. As the valuables' ownership is transferred to you it follows that I am as well. A pleasure Mistress," the duelist elite appeared completely in earnest.

"You mean I own you now?' the Ubese tried to process this and failed. What kind of being gives itself into someone's service, even a droid?

"Are you displeased?" he seemed disappointed. "Mistress, I am certain I have many skills you shall find valuable, both in and out of combat."

That's true, Xulin admittedly privately. She could see lots of Etch could help her, both in resistance jobs and everyday work, but owning a Duelist Elite? It felt absurd. Still, how can I say no? He's not so bad, and we really need those credits. "Fine, I am in charge of you, but you're not to call me mistress. My name is Xulin."

"Of course Mistress Xulin," Etch answered.

Certain she was being mocked in some fashion she couldn't properly appreciate the Zeison Sha went to retrieve her blaster rifle. Bending over to pick it up set her wincing in pain. Those had been hard hits!

"Pardon Mistress Xulin," Etch began after a moment of silence. "What is the next step?"

"The next step?" Xulin thought for a moment. "First, we find some place to space those," she pointed to the fallen ISB agents. "Second, we hide that," she indicated the thermal detonator. "In a secure cubby hole. Then," and she chuckled a little, a raspy noise her helmet reproduced cold and cruel, but still filled with amusement. "We go and see a Hutt about some art."

"Of course," the droid answered. As if it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

Xulin only laughed harder.

Story Notes

The two droids featured here are both canonical models, and are described as accurately as possible.

Though many Ubese do not speak Basic (or choose to program their helmets to relay some other language out of xenophobic impulse, Xulin was raised on Smuggler's Run and Basic is her primary language.

Christophsis is not chosen idly. The world is directly up the Corellian Run from the Kalat Arm, and this key position means a lot of what funnels in that direction from closer to the galactic core would pass that way. Wrea is a minor world just a short way up the Corellian Run from Smuggler's Run.

The ISB Agent refers to Xulin as 'Res Scum' as opposed to 'Rebel Scum' because the Discblade Alliance is a resistance against Imperial invasion. They are not affiliated with the Rebel Alliance.

Xulin's view of the Jedi is intended to be typical of the Zeison Sha. That is not to say, as the author, precisely agree with her.


	4. Righteous Despair

**Righteous Despair**

**Equatorial Jungles, Shanev**

**Kalat Arm**

**Wild Space**

**3 BBY**

"Despair!"

With the harsh battle cry in lurid language the Shanev leaped forward into battle.

Arrows launched into the air, brilliantly aimed from powerful recurved bows. They traveled over a line of jumping, bouncing spearmen in the careening advance that was as close as the jungle allowed to a charge. Long, brutally sharp razors of flint, obsidian and sometimes steel rose and fell, waving forward seeking flesh.

Almost all the fletched shafts impacted against pale white armored plastoid composite. In every single case of such collisions the points failed to penetrate.

"Misery! Dread!" harsh Shanev screams, high pitched and feral, continued as the column of Imperial Stormtroopers reacted swiftly and smartly. They raised their weapons, dropped to cover, and returned fire. Unlike the largely ineffectual arrow barrage from the ambushers, these countering fire ruby bolts took a hideous toll.

Lyi tried not to see the carnage as she ran; her longer legs and Force-enhanced motion carrying her ahead of any of the Shanev. It was an absurd mismatch, the agents of a galaxy-spanning Empire versus an isolated culture that had barely mastered ironworking. Yet there was no choice, if the Empire was not to add this world to its conquests the Shanev would have to fight. They were resolved to do so, and Lyi could do nothing less than aid this self-determination as best she might.

The column of Imperials numbered less than fifty, mostly infantry and a few speeder bikes. Terrain allowed nothing more massive. The Shanev were over three hundred, but a six to one advantage meant little even in a well executed ambush.

Lyi meant far more.

A better Stormtrooper unit, one not composed of academy dregs posted to the edge of the galaxy, would have noticed her immediately. These men acknowledged the presence of the tall green-skinned Twi'lek only as she burst from the trees at less than twenty meters.

It was too late then.

They were not complete fools; the first man to see her began firing as fast as he could depress the trigger.

Lyi never stopped moving. Awareness of the attack filtered across her senses and the Force. A tendril of that meta-sensitivity reached out instinctively. Branches moved, and a long stick hurled itself in the way of the first packet of charged energy actually on an intercept course.

With a perfectly efficient motion Lyi's right hand reached back and grasped the object harnessed there. Then she flung it forward.

The spinning metal disk, adorned with four hungry razor-fin blades, crossed the intervening space with incredible speed and unerring accuracy. The Stormtrooper was rendered suddenly headless.

It did not stop there.

Gesturing mentally with the Force, Lyi sent the weapon onward. A second trooper lost an arm, a third was sheared brutally across the waist. Both collapsed, screaming for medical aid.

Lyi could have recalled her Discblade, for so the deadly weapon was named, back to her hand for another throw, but did not. She was among the troopers now; it was time to switch tactics.

Delicate motions of wrist and ankle launched spring-mounted weapons extending out from hand and foot and set them thrumming with the micropulse of vibro-weapon technology. Then she launched her body at the nearest man, whirling through the landscape as propelled by a dancer's muscles and the aid of the Force. Telekinetic tugs combined with supreme athleticism to utterly eliminate all attempts by the Stormtrooper to evade. Lyi's blades slid in and out of gaps between plastoid plates. The man went down.

She didn't see the fall, noting it only through the sudden absence in the Force. Her body had already vaulted past, careening onward in a deadly maelstrom of limbs and blades to the next target. A halo of green, shredded vegetation, blew behind her as she carved her destructive path.

The attention of the Stormtroopers turned. They abandoned efforts to gun down the charging Shanev and focused only on Lyi's spasmodic, maddening dance.

A mistake.

Stormtroopers appear to fight in silence. Their words travel only through the internal comms of their helmets. It adds to intimidation and masks their intentions from foes lacking similar tools.

Fooling the Force, however, is not so easy. Lyi shifted to a fully evasive approach in less than a heartbeat, hurtling along the column of enemies to avoid the storm of fire closing on her. Experience as well as intuition told her the troopers would give anything to kill her, to kill a Zeison Sha.

No lightsaber-bearing Jedi, Lyi could not bat energy bolts away, but she had other methods. Letting the Force quicken her steps she plunged, flipped, rolled, and contorted a tortuous path among the enemy. Always she fought to keep Stormtrooper bodies blocking the streams of fire reaching toward her.

Imperial troops are trained not to hesitate if their own men get between them and the target, but no human finds this easy when the moment comes, especially not these icons of lax discipline. Some fired, some held, others scrambled for cover. The hesitation was enough to prevent the concentrated storm of energy necessary to spear a Zeison Sha from manifesting.

One of the speeder bikes now looped around to attack, its powerful blaster cannon spitting a continuous spray of deadly energy blasts.

Knowing the risk, but also knowing this weapon must be stopped, Lyi paused in her turbulent path to reach out a hand, grasped with the Force, and slapped her wrist down.

The front guide vanes of the bike jackknifed into the spongy detritus of the jungle floor. A white-armored Scout Trooper flew through the air to slam with a sour crack into a great tree. The bike flipped over twice before coming to a mangled stop.

A bolt flashed at Lyi. The Force brought a branch across, but too close, burning shards of wood scorched her skin. She ignored the pain, it was not a serious injury, and she had to ignore it, had to resume motion. To stop was to be struck down.

Even as she stepped again, sinuous in the way of Twi'Lek women, the battle shifted.

The Shanev had closed the distance.

Small, spry beings, close to the humans they descended from in all but minor facets, they attacked with surprising strength and terrible ferocity. Great skulls, canine, saurian, and other strange creatures, adorned the heads of all. The resting place of their souls, or so these feral people believed.

An obsidian pointed spear could not penetrate the plastoid plate of Stormtrooper armor, but it could pierce the body glove at the gaps, and failing that knock a man down hard. Once down a Shanev could easily stick a sharp little blade in a fatal place.

This close the Stormtropers found their advantages lost. The grubby uneven ground favored the surefooted Shanev. The near-humans were better dirty fighters too, and had the weight of numbers. Worst, it was too close for grenades. Those could have easily broken the charge, used properly, but the white-armored Imperials had let Lyi steal their focus at a critical juncture.

They did not surrender of course; every man knew there was no quarter in this jungle war. Nor did they try to flee; bereft of a strong column the jungle itself swiftly became a deathtrap. So they fought, seeking to kill as many as they could. Some went back to back, should they reach an ally, and mowed down all they saw.

It was not enough. This close in arrows found eyes, shoulders, and pelvis. Five or six Shanev together could simply swarm over a man, and Lyi's blades cut through any strong point of resistance. Without concentrated fire the Zeison Sha tore them apart. She flung another rider from his speeder to his death, and spun through a trio of Stormtroopers behind a log, ripping throats open with the blades attached to her feet.

Almost finished! Lyi was exultant. The price would not be low, even though this had been almost as clean as might be managed, at least as many Shanev had fallen as enemy. Even as her heart mourned it the cold calculus of war counted this greatly cheap. The gear they would strip from the Stormtroopers: blasters, grenades, medical supplies, parts, and even a whole speeder bike, was a treasure hoard. Battle high throbbing through her she let victory carry her emotions to the clouds.

Then she heard a sound.

It was still distant, but distinctive, a high pitched whine and thrum; the sound of a starfighter's engines in atmosphere.

"Run!" the word peeled out in sorrow from Lyi's mouth just as the last Stormtrooper fell. "Scatter! Flee!" she called in the language of the Shanev. "A Horrorhawk comes!" That was the term the Resistance had invented in the Shanev language for the Empire's A-7 Hunter Starfighters. "Horrorhawk!"

A number of the Shanev were veterans, they understood instantly and bolted in every direction, seeking to scatter from their companions and the battle site. Others were new, just recruited into the fight against the Empire, but they had been briefed well by the stories of their fellows and respected all Zeison Sha. They were scrambling apart, a kicked anthill, in seconds.

Lyi did not run aimlessly, she vaulted to the idle speeder bike, the one whose rider she had flung up to become gravity's prey. Kicking the pedals she blasted it to full throttle. If she could preserve at least this one piece of booty!

The sound changed, became higher. Her mind translated this result as the A-7 ruthlessly climbing so it might make a long corkscrew dive to deal maximum damage. All too few seconds passed before the rain of laser fire began to fall.

The Shanev were still too close.

The chance a bolt would directly strike a target the size of a man was slight. Even with thermal imaging the canopy was a sturdy barrier to sensors and laser cannons were not designed to hit such small targets. This was little source of salvation. Each impact triggered an explosion. Grenade-burst in power they blossomed across the verdant landscape. Little Shanev bodies were thrown about, ants struck by pebbles hurled from the hand of an angry child as they fled. Bones were smashed, flesh burned, and bodies wrenched into terrible shapes. With a cold pit of sorrow worming threw her belly Lyi felt each death through the Force, coated in helplessness, and knew worse was to come. Even Shanev's wet jungle would burn here, and all those not able to limp away would be consumed by smoke, ash, and flame.

Anger welled in her, called her, beckoning with sweet promises of vengeance, destruction, and the power to save the many friends and fighters she called comrades. Her mind played the video of imagination between stray thoughts, her rage turned to raw power to rip the fighter from the sky and scatter it to metal shards upon the ground.

"Misery!" A defiant Shanev screamed, and a futile arrow flew upwards even as a lance of ruby energy scourged the youth to naught but charred bone.

It was more than enough to restore Lyi's resolve and banish the temptation of the Dark Side. With our own strength we will win. Never could I blaspheme their suffering in that way. She knew also her part in this battle was not done.

Catching sight of a great fallen tree trunk, slowly surrendering to the detrivoric organisms who were the true lords of the jungle floor, Lyi pulled the speeder bike about.

Jamming the throttle for all it was worth she blasted up the makeshift ramp, catapulting her metal missile with the Force as a booster.

It was impossible to throw the speeder into the starfighter, of course. The Zeison Sha had taught the Imperial Starfighter Corps a brutal lesson in minimum altitudes in the very first Resistance engagements, but Lyi could reach an angle sufficient for a brief burst of fire from the blaster cannon.

Ruby streaks punctured the air about the starfighter, an inverted V with engine pods at the extremities, a bubble cockpit and laser cannons in the center. With all the grasp of the Force she could muster the Zeison Sha wrenched at the fighter, jerking it and inducing turbulence.

Like the TIE/In it had ultimately lost out to in the mass contracting wars of the Imperial Fleet, the A-7 Hunter had no shields. Though its systems were hardened against weak attacks a lucky hit might well spell doom when contending with wind, gravity, and the almighty planetary surface.

Training took over; the pilot jerked his fighter into a evasive roll, pulling around to the bike, abandoning his killing barrage.

Lyi thought first to run at full power, but a twinge of intuition dissuaded her. Instead she shut down the speeder's repulsorlift engine, wrapped her arms around the handlebars in a deathgrip, and closed her eyes.

Laser cannons flashed, massive quantities of energy poured into the space around Lyi, the air itself smoldered and scorched.

She extended her awareness through the speeder bike, becoming one with the piece of equipment just as with her weapons. Her will was all that was needed to move it.

Depowered the elongated speeder spun through the air faster and wilder than a compass needle at the magnetic pole.

The air rose to hideous temperatures, but Lyi did not breathe any into her lungs.

No bolt struck her.

Then the fighter was past, carried relentlessly onward by its tremendous momentum.

The Zeison She reactivated the engine and sped in the opposite direction. The A-7 climbed to make another dive, but the Shanev were gone, melted away into the jungle. Disaster was averted.

At the rendezvous point the full butcher's bill was counted. Sixty-one Shanev had lost their lives and as many were wounded, though most of these were not serious. Fifty Stormtroopers had been slain and three speeder bikes destroyed. In addition to Lyi's prize veteran Shanev had snatched three bandoliers of grenades, one medical kit, two utility kits, and seven Blastech E-11 blaster rifles during the fighting.

All this the Zeison Sha accepted with grim satisfaction as the cell commander, a Rodian ex-mercenary who had thrown in with the Discblade Alliance, organized the battered tribesmen for relocation and new operations. He gave Lyi considerable praise, and many Shanev thanked her profusely, a grand gesture in their spite-focused culture.

It gave her no comfort. My duty is not fulfilled until the Empire is gone from the Kalat Arm, gone from all our homes. Until then, or until death claimed her, she would fight in defense of the planets and systems where the Zeison Sha had made a homeland. Her blades and the Force would serve the cause as needed and officers requested.

Our people will free themselves, and the strong will fight for the weak, she saw it in the Shanev. The jungle people, facing powers they could not possibly understand and thought manifestations of their cruel gods, had never given less than everything to defend their land from invaders.

Blessed with more, Lyi'Chinwe, Zeison Sha Warrior, knew she could not possibly give anything less. No matter if the sorrows mounded up to make even the butcher weep.

**Story Notes:**

The essence of the conflict of the Kalat Arm is the Resistance by primitive and underdeveloped worlds to Imperial invasion, as opposed to the Rebellion against Imperial oppression in the heart of the galaxy. It is the Zeison Sha, and through them the Force, that make this possible.

Informational Notes:

The fighter used here is a canon vessel. The A-7 Hunter Interceptor was a Kuat Drive Yards ship passed over in favor of the TIE model but a great number were purchased and served in remote areas.

The Shanev are a near-human species of my own creation. Much like many modern primitive jungle tribes they are physically reduced in size and practice peculiar policies of personal adornment.

Lyi'Chinwe is not a Twi'Lek for purely aesthetic reasons. Though the species is widespread across the galaxy, the Kalat Arm is close to Ryloth, and Twi'Leks are one of the most abundant alien species in the region as a result.


	5. DoubleEdged Routine

**Double-Edged Routine**

**System R19244**

**Kalat Arm**

**Wild Space**

**1 BBY**

The planet has a name, recorded in its entry in the Space Ministry database, but the captain does not know what it is. She knows it is a Khil colony, settled for over three hundred years, but she cannot say how many beings live beneath the midnight blue clouds wrapping its habitable zone. The data exists as well, for though this is a poor world the tendril-faced aliens have retained their bureaucratic thoroughness. She has simply avoided looking at it, or almost any other data.

The distance is her shelter.

Besides, a hideous little voice deep down inside her taunts, all of those precious demographic and cultural statistics are about to be drastically altered anyway. She did everything she could not to listen to that voice, even though she knew the ability to mock morbidity helped to keep her sane.

Despite her deliberate lack of familiarity with this planet referred to only by number in all official documentation, she was not unprepared. All the critical details, geography, climate, atmospheric phenomena, industry distribution, and a response psych profile had been properly examined, considered, and integrated into mission planning. She knew what she was doing.

"Lieutenant," she broke free from her moment of silent melancholy, standing up from her command chair to peer over the men and women on her bridge. "Final check please, are we at full readiness?"

"Yes sir," her second answered crisply, though without enthusiasm. "All systems are functioning properly and all stations report operational. Sensor threat board shows no surprises. We can begin at any moment."

"Very good," she had almost hoped some problem would arise, some unanticipated error or complication to present a delay or alternative, but of course it had not. Her crew had many flaws, but this was something they would not fail to do properly. They'd had too much practice.

The mission was scheduled to begin precisely at 0930 Imperial standard time, one hour before native dawn over the main population center.

Thirty seconds remained.

She kept a close watch on her wrist chrono. If at all possible, she would have preferred to simply let the mission run on an automated timer, but that could not be. This was an Imperial ship, and the captain would have to give the order.

The digital timer hit the mark. "Initiate operation!" she spoke clearly so the whole bridge could hear, knowing her words were relayed to the rest of the ship.

It began with little drama, the helm simply applied thrust in a particular direction, shifting the six hundred meter keel of the vessel out of the geosynchronous orbit she'd held for four hours while final plans were made and into a specifically plotted median line passage over the planet.

Things began to happen fairly quickly after that, systems rerouted power throughout the ship, men changed stations and focused on what they were about to do. In four minutes they had reached the edge of the habitable zone, and the true process had begun.

"Captain, we are receiving communications from the planet," one of the ensigns reported, as she had known he would. It always happened, and her response was the same as it had been since the first few times.

"Ignore them, there is nothing to say," she ordered. A few faces, new ones, blanched, but she put only a frozen mask. "The operation will continue until completed, we will deviate only if threatened." She would have liked someone to try, it would be so much better.

"We have range to target on the first objective," an officer, voice held almost inhumanly flat, as if he wished he were a droid, announced.

"Any interference?" it was rhetorical, she knew there wouldn't be any, but she asked out of procedure and bitterness.

"No sir."

"This is the captain to all batteries," she took a deep, steadying breath, a ritual for this moment.

"Commence firing."

Space was silent, but the vessel shook and thrummed as it unleashed its power, launching great green discharges of energy from turbolasers through the void.

They traveled inexorably in one direction, down, down, through the thin atmosphere, thicker cloud layer, and then finally delivered their payload of raw power to the solidity of the surface.

A line of fire erupted on the planet, its path mirroring that of the ship as it moved over at first, but then widening, as the horrific energies took hold of the planet's own resources to add to the carnage, spreading the destruction in a much greater swath.

The path was not linear, constant minor course corrections were made by the helm, adjusting for the placement of transit hubs and settlements. The colony was small, poor, and simple in design, it had been easy to develop a course to strike everything of consequence in a single pass.

Standing on the bridge, with no tasks to undertake unless there was some error, as was militarily proper, it was impossible for the Captain not to think on what was happening below.

She refused to consider it except in military terms, of the damage the turbolaser strikes would inflict upon buildings, vehicles, and the soil itself, of the physical processes governing the spread of secondary conflagrations and toxic vapors, and of any possible desperate counter attacks. Not that the last, even if it could be devised, would be of any use. This colony was agrarian, its largest structures were grain processing plants, it had no weapons or devices capable of even reaching to space, much less harming a Gladiator-class Star Destroyer once there.

The firing went on for fifteen minutes before there was anything to report.

"We have a failure in battery four, one turbolaser out," the gunner chief observed.

"Adjust point defense cannon fire pattern to Delta-6 in order to compensate," the captain responded after only a moment's thought, and before the gunnery officer could even offer a solution. She knew her ship, it brought the just the briefest moment of satisfaction before she recalled what her ship was presently doing. "What was the cause of the problem?"

The chief held a rapid comlink conversation with crew struggling in the heart of the battery itself. "Seems we had a Tibanna gas corruption, caused a heat spike that fried the cryosystem temporarily. They should be back up in ten minutes."

"Make it five," she demanded, though she doubted she'd get it. A Tibanna gas corruption, she allowed it to distract her once more. Someone had skimped on inspections for that to happen. It was time to increase double checks again.

They managed to be back up in eight minutes, just in time to join in finishing the job. Two minutes after that, it was done.

"All stations stand down from combat status and commence post-engagement diagnostic and containment," the captain ordered, calmly, sensibly, as if this was completely ordinary. Of course, it was, she told herself. Just another well-executed operation. "Sensors, conduct evaluation of objectives. You may launch a probe droid at your discretion if you feel it warranted. Officers to debrief in thirty minutes. Helm, chart a return course to Yanibar, we'll depart at 1105." That was in an hour. The bombardment had taken only thirty-five minutes from their first move until they were clear of orbit.

The captain sank back into her chair. Yet another world scourged. There would be survivors of course, those who resided in rural areas, or who had successfully fled far enough from population centers, but they would not be many. She knew the statistics by heart. Small colony worlds had few settlements and concentrated populations, with limited infrastructure and resources for post-disaster stabilization and recovery. Focused Anti-Production Orbital Bombardment, the type used in this mission, would destroy upwards of 85% percent of all non-agricultural production and anywhere from 75-95% of the population.

It was an unlawful resistance stronghold, she told her misgivings, as she always did. The people of this planet actively engaged in and covertly supported armed resistance and guerrilla warfare against the New Order. Fighters were recruited and supplies produced here that claimed the lives of loyal Imperial soldiers. It was a legitimate military countermeasure.

Sure it was legitimate, the dark little voice inside her mocked. You know that doesn't make it right.

Soldiers don't deal in right or wrong, she ordered the voice back into silence. Besides, what choice did she have? There weren't enough troops to even occupy strategic centers, never mind pacify the planet, and ground fighting played into the hands of superior enemy morale and a significantly reduced materiel advantage. Fighting a space battle was equally impossible. The resistance wasn't suicidal, they knew they couldn't pull together what it took to take the ship, they vanished at a sniff of her.

So we are left with bouncing around the Kalat Arm, leveling villages while the hunters escape us. They bleed, and we bleed, and no one wins.

At least, she tapped the arm rest of her command chair, you are well named.

The captain of the _Lacerator_, Brenna Tivin, stood up and went to prepare for debriefing. She had a report to file on destroying a world, and an analysis to conduct to make sure that the next time she was ordered to do so everything went on without fail.

To survive doing this she had to make it routine.

**Story Notes**

The _Lacerator_ is a Gladiator-Class Star Destroyer, and is the largest and most powerful combat vessel in the entire Kalat Arm. This is a canon vessel type that was commonly used in remote areas.

Brenna Tivin holds the rank of Captain of the Line, and is the senior Imperial Navy officer in the Kalat Arm.

I have made up the term Focused Anti-Production Orbital Bombardment, but feel it is appropriate. As far as I can tell the only canon name for a specific bombardment technique is Base Delta Zero, which is far more extreme than this action.

Portraying the Imperials here is difficult, as usually in Star Wars Imperial characters are either exceptional persons (such as Thrawn or Pellaeon), or notorious villains such as Zsinj. The crew of the Lacerator are simply ordinary soldiers, and actually rather low-quality ones at that. Captain Tivin herself is a conservative, bland, and ordinary commander, which hopefully serves to highlight the stress she's under.

As a minor note, the system number give in the front text is not totally random. The R19 designation corresponds to _The Essential Atlas _grid system.


End file.
